Need
by AkumaStrife
Summary: Every confession that fell from his lips, every plea, was at most only half true, masked with lies and manipulation. For he exposed each one of their weaknesses in his vain attempt to heal his own.


**A/N: Dissidia 012: Dodecim came out today! 8D And I just bought it. **

**SO FUCKING EXCITED.**

**And so, to commemorate such a monumental day, I worked my ass off this weekend to finish this story, one I realized has taken me almost a year to complete -_-**

**Enjoy ^_^**

**[Prompt:** Because Zidane gets around.**]**

**

* * *

I.**

They are the only ones still around the fire; the others asleep and Squall on watch for the time being. Zidane watches the first of his conquests, the first of his self-medications. His heart aches and feels like an empty hole, sucking every other overwhelming emotion with it. The Warrior of Light will be just the thing to alleviate that crushing feeling, all filled with light and hope.

Zidane adopts a pained expression, which honestly isn't all that difficult (he tells himself its because he's a master thief, a trickster); and proceeds to lay his trap. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if about to say something, and every few attempts lets a frustrated noise slip out. It does not take very long for their fearless leader to pick up on his distress.

"Zidane, is there something weighing on your mind?"

The genome casts an ashamed glance in his direction before frowning and looking elsewhere, "I just…there's this…" and stops trying, letting out a sigh, as if unsure. The Warrior of Light sighs as well and picks a seat closer to the seemingly distraught thief.

"Tell me."

Zidane looks up into his eyes jerkily, "I'm just so plagued with doubt," and their leader looks surprised as he continues on, "like I'm not the right guy for this, and I'm failing. I haven't even found my crystal yet!" he exclaims, fingers twisting painfully in his hair.

The Warrior of Light gently tugs the fingers free, and the owner notices that he does not let them go as he begins to encourage, "Do not think such thoughts; after all, you would not be here if Cosmos did not think you more than capable."

Zidane cracks a smile, as if thanking him for the kind words, "I just feel so inadequate in comparison to everyone else," his words are shaky and his hands tremble ever so slightly in the grasp of the other. And he thanks the heavens for all those years he spent as an actor, for he knows he has their leader hooked on his every silent cry for help. Warriors respond best to panic and desperation; the hero they house had an insatiable need to protect and mend, he knows this all too well. He also knows that the Warrior of Light is a figurehead for them all, the embodiment of the hero persona, and would be the first to fall victim to someone suffering.

"Sometimes," Zidane whispers fearfully, as if sharing a dark secret, "I feel like I'm loosing sight of my light." He watches the comment cut their leader deep; watches the emotions flicker across that usually stoic face.

"How can I help you?"

And Zidane inwardly leers.

**

* * *

II.**

Firion is alone; smiling softly as he slowly twirls his claret flower between his fingers.

Zidane takes off at a dead sprint, not even bothering to stop as he slams into the taller man, gripping tightly at any thing he could that was Firion.

"I've lost it!"

Firion's face transforms into one of genuine concern, hands raised to steady both of them, "What have you lost?"

"My _rose,"_ Zidane stresses, "It was taken from me just before I was brought here, but I'm starting to loose my memories of it too! I can't remember what she looked like, how she smelled; I can't hear her voice anymore!"

He is clutching Firion's jacket and pulling him close in his terror, the panic only half real, as the claims themselves were real enough. Firion goes very still, as if understanding all too well the significance of the change in pronoun.

"Ah, so then when you say your 'rose' you are referring—"

"My princess, yes!" his eyes hold sorrow as they dart to search Firion's features, as if finding solace in them. It is this touch, he assumes, that causes Firion to unconsciously reach up and lightly hold him.

"Zidane, you must calm down—" but the genome cuts him off once more, demeanor hysteric.

"Firion!" he starts to shake, eyes wet, "You speak of your rose frequently, and if my rose is my princess, then your rose must be equally as important. What would you do if your rose was taken away from you?" There is pain in the other warrior's eyes, as if that is the last thing he wants to think about. "Help me," Zidane pleads, near tears and voice broken, "You know what it's like, help me remember her."

He senses Firion has started to lose sight of his own rose when he doesn't resist the frenzied kiss; when he doesn't push him away, but holds him tighter.

**

* * *

III. **

The Onion Brat glares at him, retort ready on his lips, and Zidane smirks. Really, the kid is just too easy to ruffle, open like a book. He still has so much to learn. But this time the Onion Knight keeps his mouth shut, keeps his thoughts to himself. He's seen Zidane fight, it's obvious the stupid monkey is stronger than he is, and he's not reckless enough to fight against someone he knows he can't beat. Zidane can practically hear his train of thought; he's just that easy to read, not quite as clever as he'd like to think.

"Hey, don't get all worked up, it's okay to not be at the top of your game all the time."

The boy scowls. "Of course it's not! We're heroes for Cosmos, for light, we must prevail at all times!"

Zidane makes his eyes soften, manipulating the manipulator. "We're allowed to be less than perfect, don't you know that?" he offers a saccharine smile –a smile just as false and sweet as the flavors in his favorite childhood candy— as he rests a hand on the boy's shoulder, lifts it to let fingers push back wispy locks. "Come on, you're still a kid, and yet have you had any time to actually be one?"

"What a waste that would be; I have responsibilities that are much more important than silly and useless behaviors!" he spits and shrugs the warm hand away, but Zidane can see the thoughts and options spinning in his mind, can see the wistful longing sparkle deep in his gaze, barely perceptible. He'd known from the start that the Onion Knight would be a different target, that it would take different –but easier— tactics; youth are so easily moved by their own passion, it's almost too easy, like taking candy from a baby. Oh wait.

Zidane knew that to ensnare the boy he'd have to reach out to him, rather than have him drawn in. He's also starkly aware of the gravity of what he's doing; sullying a mere child, corrupting such a pure soul.

He walks on, knowing he's hooked the boy, knowing he will follow by the will of his damn curiosity. It always gets him into trouble; this time will be no different. The thief briefly wonders how the boy –for all his intelligence— does not notice this trend, why he hasn't learned to leave well enough alone and save himself.

"It would be okay if you wanted to be able to act like a kid, no one would begrudge you that. It's not cowardly." The Onion Boy goes to say something sharp and scathing back, but Zidane slips his next statement in before he has a chance. "Honestly, we all have a secret wish like that. I really don't want to fight anyone, not anymore."

It's a ridiculous statement, one that holds no truth whatsoever, and also is so uncharacteristic of him in both speech and context that it actually feels a little forced as it comes out. But the boy doesn't notice, he just snaps his gaze to him, and Zidane doesn't even have to look to see how the boy watches him with something like anger and amazed wonder. Zidane isn't surprised the Onion Knight relates to that particular line, it was something he noticed early on. It hadn't been difficult to see that the boy's aversion to fighting did not stem from tact alone. He is still a kid after all –but he's got to stop thinking that, else reason may overtake him and make him realize how wrong this really is in comparison.

He can sense that suddenly childish gaze looking to his hand as it swings freely, trying his best to entice him. The boy does not reach for it, but he will soon enough, they just have to ease into it. For the time being the Onion Boy takes a bigger step as he softly offers, "You know…my real name is…Luneth." His tone of voice has changed with the confession, regressing into the child he should be, the child he wasn't allowed to be.

"Really?" he spares him but a glance, one to keep him interesting and around, and Luneth nods. "Just curious, have you told any of the others this?"

"…No."

Zidane has to keep himself from laughing in glee at this fact; he has the boy hook, line, and sinker. Apparently from some point in their conversation Luneth decided to trust him the most; a very dumb move, of that Zidane is positive.

Luneth is just now letting himself act his age, it's really too bad he's going to take that away so soon.

**

* * *

IV.**

"Cecil?" Zidane starts softly, an unusual tone that immediately catches the paladin's attention.

"Yes, what is it Zidane?"

"You had a princess you were in love with, right?" The holy warrior nods, unsure what this is leading to. "And she loved you back?"

Cecil quirks a smile, "Yes, we were married you know. But what are you getting at? If there's something you want to know or ask, you should say so outright."

Zidane looks up, unshed tears in eyes, "Do you think that she'll ever stop loving you? That you'll have been away too long and she'll forget you?"

Cecil is alarmed at the attitude that seems foreign coming from Zidane and grips his shoulders tightly, "I do not believe that will ever be the case. But what is troubling you so?" he is uneasy with Zidane's behavior and would like nothing more than to cure him of it.

"I just can't help but feel as if my princess will forget me, that she'll be tired of waiting for me, that I took too long," he allows one pitiful tear to slip down his face, not at all ashamed at what a beating his pride has taken; he'll do anything for the sake of his own wants. "That maybe by the time I get back to her…it'll be too late and she won't love me anymore." He chokes back a sob (for effect, that's all it is).

Cecil looks completely distraught at his comrade's state; at an utter loss of how he can remedy the situation (for he is a hero, and heroes _fix_ situations like this). He gently wipes away the tear and mutters soothing words under his breath. "Zidane, that is not true, she will never forget the love you two share," and Zidane does not internally wince at how he is defiling that love, "What has spurred such thoughts?"

Zidane briefly struggles with which tactic he will use next: to look at the other in the eyes with desperation, or to look away in helplessness. He chooses the former, as he knows the intense contact will weaken his superior even further to be clay for his molding. "I think…I've forgotten what it feels like to be loved," he admits, pleading for _something_ with his watery eyes. He knows he has won when he detects the pity, and even understanding, in the other. "I just want to be loved!" he says it in a whisper, as if ashamed of his neediness; his helpless demeanor allowing him to pull Cecil close, "this is weak of me—"

But Cecil cuts him off, "No, do not think that for a moment. We all stumble every so often; it is only natural with the great burden we all have to bare." The paladin of light seems to forget himself with the heady need to placate someone -forgets that he has a princess he loves trusting him to stay loyal- as he pulls Zidane closer and tilts his face up, "We all need a little reassurance once in a while, no shame in that…" and shares his endless reserves of love in the only way he knows how.

**

* * *

V. **

Nothing is wrong. Absolutely nothing is wrong and so he has to go and mess it up; has to instigate something that will give him his in.

"Y'know, I have to ask: How long have you been wandering?" The question is simple, harmless enough, but it makes the mimic stiffen slightly, and it is the exact reaction Zidane was hoping for. Surprise means weakness, and weakness means control.

Bartz turns to face him, a typical carefree grin on his face, "Quite a long time." He gives a little jig, chuckling at his own antics as he goes on, the effort giving himself away, "I'm free as the wind. I can go where ever I please and do whatever I fancy."

"Yeah, but…doesn't that get lonely?" Zidane asks as if he doesn't already know how it feels, how it makes the other feel. It's so easy to tell that Bartz is struggling with both his answer and to keep himself composed; he wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions clear as daylight upon his face.

"I suppose," he shrugs, a grin stretching his face, the emotion a little too tight, "Sometimes, but it doesn't bother me much."

Lie.

Dig, dig, dig.

"Well, you're not alone now." Zidane chirps with a bright smile and a twinkle in his eye, "You've got all the other Warriors of Light to keep you company." He lets the statement hang for a moment, lets the tension build, "And most importantly you have me."

There's that hopeful smile on Bartz' face, the real one, the one that gives away his thoughts of 'maybe things will be a bit different now'. Zidane actually has to think if what he's doing bothers him: he comes to the conclusion 'not really'. He's a thief; he takes what he wants. Life isn't easy, life isn't fair, and life sure isn't going to hold your hand. He tells himself that he doesn't feel bad for taking advantage of Bartz; after all, he already broke a child, there's not much lower he can go.

"I get lonely sometimes. Never really had a family, so I'm kind of in the same boat." He observes something on his sleeve cuff as if he's indifferent to the whole matter, as if it's the truth. "It'd be okay if you were y'know. I wouldn't judge you."

Bartz looks unsure for the first time, as if he's finally letting go of his pretty mask. The wind is unpredictable; he knows this better than anyone. It changes its course too frequently to call any place familiar, to settle in one spot. Seeing the world is wonderful, but only if there's somewhere to go back to. There's a reason he is called the wanderer, and not the traveler. Zidane sees the shadows blow across the mimic's usually bright face; he sees and he knows. Bartz looks at him and his cape flutters in some invisible breeze.

"It's not so bad, I don't notice half the time because I'm usually having too much fun." He smiles, continuing his charade. But Zidane can hear the truth straining to come out. He's already gotten him this far, so the remaining stretch is easily within sight; after all, it is no secret how much Bartz has come to adore him.

"That's pretty strong of you; you're a lot braver than I am." He says it with all the sincerity and nonchalance he can muster, walking forward to continue their trek.

"Really? I doubt that I'm bra—"

"No, you are." Bartz is walking beside him now, watching him with concern and confusion, the admittance of weakness something he'd never seen from the thief. "I get…I _am_ lonely." He can sense the sadness in Bartz at the confession; can almost hear the wheels turning in his brain. It's unnecessary, but he adds one last thing, one last comment to drive it deep into Bartz's too trusting heart, "Sure, I have you and Squall and the others now, but it's only a matter of time until you all walk out of my life, before you all leave just like the ones before."

"No, that's not true!" Bartz is appalled and frantic, willing to do anything to prove his loyalty. And Zidane lets him; willing to take everything from him, willing to take what little he has left.

**

* * *

VI. **

She comes to him first, and he is not surprised. In fact, he is surprised she hasn't sought him out sooner. The female species is different than his own gender; they need different things, deal with situations in their own way. But most obvious of all is their completely open desire for reassurance and comfort. It's like Terra is begging for him to take advantage of her, take advantage of her weakness. He doesn't have to do a damn thing, she comes to him with her heart already laid open, with her eyes unguarded and her demeanor not wary in the slightest. He is a hero of light, and so she trusts him on principle, assumes he will take care of her like the others –she always said she was perfectly capable of holding her own, but she's too unsure of her powers to make good on that, the others wanting to protect her instinctually.

They are sitting out in the canyons, her feet dangling over the side and his crisscrossed beneath him.

"Sometimes it's like I've lost track of who I'm supposed to be. Do you ever feel like that?" he doesn't know why he's even asking, as she's already nodding eagerly, expression clearly displaying her awe at how it's like he pulled the words straight from her own thoughts. He could ease himself on her at that very moment and she would be enamored enough to go along with it; hell, he could probably force himself on her and she'd trick herself into believing that it had been her idea, that Zidane truly loved her. If he were doing this for kicks then that thought alone would take all the fun out of the situation. But that's not the case, that's not why he's here weaving lie after lie around his prey until they can't perceive truth from well-crafted illusions. He _needs _this, needs this fabricated role of control and dominance to cope; to deal with this so familiar story of damsels and villains vying after the world and supernatural peril and crystals.

He looks into her eyes that lead him right to her soul, and the only thing he can think is that he hopes this too-easy encounter doesn't cause him to become lazy in the future, as that could ruin everything within a moment's negligence.

"You know, I can't stop feeling like I've forgotten something important…" Terra starts thoughtfully, her tone carrying a hint of desperation and hopelessness, "or even why I was asleep." And Zidane is almost disgusted in the fact that he wasn't even paying attention and she is already practically throwing herself at him. He doesn't have to worry about her mental defenses, he doesn't have to skillfully influence her to lower her guard and open up.

"Yeah, I get that sometimes too," he finds himself saying, his mouth on autopilot as he mind reels; his strategy gets all messed up when things don't go according to plan, when there is a reversal of roles that he isn't prepared for. She's unknowingly moving too quickly, progressing the conversation faster than normal. She must need this almost as much as he does, must need to have her ego and self-esteem stroked and kissed. She always sounds so unsure and broken; he wonders if she realizes this.

Terra shyly reaches out to take his hand in her own, interlacing their fingers so it seems like a joint decision. It doesn't take him more than a faction of a moment to respond, tracing patterns into her soft skin with a fingertip. He can feel the blood race in her wrist, can feel her heartbeat speed up at the action.

"I just can't remember, and if I don't remember then I can't find my crystal." Misery leaks into her tone, and it feels strange to Zidane that _she_ is the one spouting tortured lines, obviously seeking something. He wonders if she's been going around pulling the same tricks he has, craving the same thing. If he takes now, would that mean she is the one who wins?

She sighs in defeat, and Zidane is almost angry at how she is stealing his tactics. "But I just can't feel it there anymore…I can't feel anything; not our friends, not our enemies, and not my crystal either." She turns watery eyes on him and she's just making this too easy. "This has never happened before."

He gently caresses her cheek with his free hand, trying to sooth her, and she leans into the touch complacently. "Don't worry, I'll protect you," he whispers against her lips.

**

* * *

VII. **

Zidane stumbles clumsily over to where Cloud is keeping watch, making enough noise so as to not startle the other. Even if he knows it's pointless: Cloud apparently was some sort of bio-manipulated soldier, and so his hearing is impeccable. Still, he makes noise as he shuffles through the underbrush; almost like a kind gesture to pretend like the stoic warrior is completely human and needs the warning. He senses those electric blue eyes on him as he flops down on the log next to him, letting out what seems to be a tortured sigh. A perfect blonde eyebrow arches slightly, almost unnoticeable.

"Bad memories," Zidane explains, and Cloud nods in understanding.

It's a lie.

'_I just wanted to be with you' _is closer to the truth, but still so far away that it is almost as much a lie.

Cloud doesn't inquire (none of them ever do, as it's usually too familiar and therefore painful), but Zidane can tell from the posture of the other that he is willing to listen if that's what he needs. Cloud may be silent and unresponsive, but he's more open than Squall…marginally.

"I almost lost her so many times, y'know? My princess was taken from me time after time, and each time I never knew if I was ever going to get her back," Zidane lets his voice tighten at the end, slowly deactivating Cloud's defenses with the hint of helplessness in his tone. "I don't know what I'd do if…" he takes a moment to collect himself, breathing shallowly, "if I wasn't able to save her; if I'd be too late." Cloud's –the ex-SOLDIER, the one who's seen so much death— eyes light up. They seem to flood with some inhuman substance that makes them glow with unfamiliar emotions. (What was it that resided in Cloud's blood stream? May-ko? Mock-o? He can't remember). It is with that reaction that Zidane realizes Cloud has experienced more loss than many of them. That, try as he might, there were people he cared for greatly, yet wasn't able to save. People he dared to love who were cruelly ripped from his clutching grasp.

"I just can't help feeling that one of these days I won't be able to protect her, and—" a sob threatens to bubble forth, his form visibly trembling in the pale light of the moon as he resumes his fabricated confession of weakness, "knowing that one of these days she'll be taken from me, and that I can't do a damn thing about it makes me feel so useless. If I can't protect her, then I'm not fit to protect anybody." he murmurs the last statement quietly, as if ashamed. And Cloud's eyes flash with something bright and sharp.

He is both surprised and unsurprised when Cloud reaches out to lay a hand on his shaking shoulders, slowly pulling the smaller warrior to his side. Zidane leans into the embrace, giving Cloud that feeling of being depended on, that rush of protecting someone who truly _needs him_. Zidane lets the other draw strength and reassurance from his action of faux weakness, gives him a moment to do so…before slowly reaching up for a kiss, silently asking for a gentle touch in return.

**

* * *

VIII. **

It's just him and Squall again. The lion saved him from the villains again. Zidane let him…again.

Squall was a hero, and just like all the others—even if he acted indifferent about the whole thing— he liked feeling like one, liked feeling like he'd done something right and saved a life. So Zidane let him feel like he was needed. But the danger is over and Squall does not waste words with mindless chatter; he's like Cloud in that respect. Neither say much, neither show much. He got through to Cloud though, so Squall shouldn't be too much harder.

"Let's rest for now, it's getting dark," Zidane suggests, and gets only a nod in response. They set up 'camp' mechanically, the actions so well practiced that their hands run on autopilot, freeing up their minds to think. Squall to brood and plan for tomorrow; Zidane to plan for tonight. But Zidane does not have long to plot, as 'camp' truly only consists of a fire and maybe something softer to sleep on.

They settle around the fire, the little monkey sitting closer to the lion than usual, but the latter says nothing of it.

Zidane counts to eight, then starts over and counts to nine before he speaks, "It's okay to ask, you know."

Squall looks at him blankly, as if he has no idea what the other is referring to.

"To ask for help, we're all here for you." The thief clarifies, but the gunblader only looks away and mutters,

"Whatever."

Zidane folds one leg under himself, propping the other up so he can rest his head on his knee, "But we don't blame you for not asking." He frowns, sighing heavily and casts a glance to the other, "We can understand why, and I…think I can empathize." he whispers. Squall does not respond, but that's okay because he honestly didn't expect him to. At least he's listening; it's certainly an improvement. "Sometimes it's like I've stopped feeling; like it doesn't even matter that I have because no one is there for me. Do you ever feel like that? Is that why you never ask for help…Squall?" he asks hesitantly, putting emphasis on the lion's name, as it seems to be a soft spot for him. Squall tilts his head ever so slightly, his eyes showing a thread of thoughtfulness. The gesture is barely perceptible, but it is enough to alert Zidane that he's finally broken through the wall of indifference.

The look is quickly locked away again, as Squall looks to the side and snorts, "Bartz cares about you a whole lot."

Zidane permits a tiny, soft smile, "And you?" No answer comes, so he chuckles in a show of good humor, "I see."

Squall finally looks at him, seeming a little uncharacteristically uncertain and rationalizes, "The battle ground is not a place to be looking out for others."

It sounds like an excuse. An excuse signifies guilt. Good. That means he's making progress.

Zidane gives a cheeky grin at the defense, one that Squall is used to. One that'll persuade Squall to keep his defenses down, keep him unaware and open. Without hesitation he scoots closer, closing the already short distance between them; curling into his side like a pet. Squall eyes him with some bit of alarm and confusion, stiff at the sudden contact.

"It is very cold this evening," Zidane explains evenly, "and the fire isn't much, 'cause you said that anything bigger would attract attention."

The lion rolls his eyes, "Whatever," but graciously lets him remain (even if he knows Zidane is up to nothing but mischief). Zidane waits at this point; he stays quiet and lets Squall sort through whatever conflicting thoughts he may have developed since they started talking. It isn't until the lion lets out an aggravated sigh that Zidane speaks again.

"You know…I meant what I said," he whispers, purposefully not breaking the sudden tension, "It'd be nice…knowing someone had my back…" It is quiet for a long time, the only sounds coming from the small fire as it crackles and burns, consuming everything it touches. Zidane knows that not all of his words match up, that the phrases don't exactly fit together as smoothly as they should…maybe he's loosing his touch. But Squall seems too taken by them to notice anyways.

Finally Squall opens his mouth, and equally quiet he breathes, "I know."

It is then that Zidane very slowly clutches the edge of the gunblader's jacket in his hand, letting the other feel how his fingers tighten for a moment before loosening listlessly. He waits, and then carefully, hesitantly, slides his hand up until it is buried in the fur ruff. He senses that Squall is watching him out of the corner of his eye, but does not lift his gaze, merely keeps it locked on the griever pendant that always hangs at the other's throat. He briefly wonders what it signifies. Zidane tugs at the collar in his grasp gently, almost testing to see how Squall will respond. He doesn't yank away, but holds perfectly still; so the thief continues and slowly pulls him down so they are level. Finally meeting the steely gaze of the other he tugs him forward, closer.

And for once in his life…Squall ignores his pride and lets it happen.

**

* * *

IX. **

It didn't take much to successfully separate himself from the others; they were understanding of the need to be alone with their painful memories and ever lingering doubt of the present.

He doesn't know why, but he feels a tinge of guilt of what he's about to do. Never before has this affected him, but he suspects that it might be because it's all catching up to him. All the lies; all the suppressed emotions; all the confusion. For the first time Zidane feels a little bit shameful as he slowly starts to touch himself. But of course, it would only make sense –in his time of suffocating weakness- that Cosmos would decide to show up. She stands with her back to him, as she's suddenly just _there_, looking sadly out at the expanse of destroyed landscape. Whether the goddess is really lost in thought, or just giving him time to make himself presentable and hide this newfound embarrassment; he just doesn't know.

"Your heart is in such distress," she says gently after a few moments, "please tell me what is wrong."

Her tone reminds Zidane of a concerned mother, and that only encourages his guilt; no mother should have to find her son like this, no mother should have to witness the broken state of her son. But more than anything he feels shame that she _knows_; she knows what he's done, what he's done to the others that she also considers her children.

"I'm lost…so lost, and I can't seem to find my way anymore," he answers in defeat, not even bothering to stand from his seat on the cold ground, knowing there is no point in trying to hide it any longer. His demeanor is uncharacteristic, but he's so tired of pretending. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore; I can't find my crystal and I won't be able to if I don't have anything to fight for." It is mostly the truth, only part of his problem, a plight that plagues him in result of the bigger issue; but he's scared to talk about that with this pure goddess who already trusts and believes in him more than he deserves.

"Is that the only thing troubling you?" she asks, and says it in such a motherly, knowing tone that he can't help but pour everything out to her. He's never had a mother before, and he's not afraid to admit to himself that he's become far more attached to her than anyone else in his entire life. She's almost like an imaginary friend; so fragile and ethereal that it's like she must've been made up from the start; someone children impulsively and naively tell everything to because she's simply not real.

"I don't have a purpose, like the others, and so all I can seem to do to make up for that is steal theirs. And in the process I can't help but break them." His voice trembles so slightly.

"Come my child," Cosmos, the mother of all, says gently, running her fingers through his hair as she stands beside him, letting him lean on her for support, "tell me everything," even if she already knows.

"I've hurt them all so much, and the worst part is that they don't even know what it is I'm doing to them! I'm just such a damn good actor, and they're all too trusting of me." He pulls his knees under his chin, not able to remember a time when he openly displayed such childish vulnerability in stance or speech.

"I've darkened the pure light of the Warrior of Light; tainted Firion's precious dream; shattered Cecil's foundation of love; stolen the Onion Knight's innocence; denied Bartz's wish to finally have somewhere he belonged; stunted Terra's belief in herself; reminded Cloud of his failures and regrets; and taken Squall's pride. I've taken the only thing left they had to cling to, just because I'm too pathetic to have anything of my own."

"And what of Tidus? There is yet hope to save him."

Zidane isn't sure if that last part is a statement, or a hopeful question.

"I'm going to blot out his sunshine, his optimism." and adds quietly, " 'Cause I'm a thief…it's what I do." He gets up and starts to walk away, no less confused and miserable than when he arrived; simply resigning himself to his fate. She will not stop him, he realizes this with grim amusement; for they are all her warriors of light, and while she cares for them deeply she lets them experience life's hardships by their own hand. No one would learn otherwise.

She watches him go, her heart weeping for the state of his soul, her eyes heavy with the weight of a thousand years of sadness and tears.

**

* * *

X. **

"I wonder where Rosebud ran off to," Tidus asks aloud, tossing his sword from hand to hand lazily. Zidane merely shrugs. It takes the blitzball player a moment to notice the less than enthusiastic answer. He turns to watch the genome, carefree smile lessening slightly. "Hey, what's up with that face? Something bothering you?"

Zidane shrugs again, "No, I'll be okay." He finds that it's getting easier to act upset and depressed. It's probably just his increasing acting skill…

"When you say 'I'll _be_ okay' that means you're not okay _right now_ though…"

Zidane can't hide the fact that he's surprised Tidus caught his choice of words so quickly; usually the guy was a complete space cadet. And so he goes with it and pretends that it was a slip-up…even if it's starting to seem like the slip-ups really are just that.

He plasters on an obviously forced smile and waves the taller blond away, "Nonsense, I'm perfectly fine." He lets the silence stretch between them, watching Tidus think.

"Come on, cheer up!" Tidus coerces, not believing him for a moment, smile wide and sincere as he clamps a gloved hand on his shoulder. Zidane grins back, placing a hand of his own over the other's. As expected Tidus flushes slightly, pulling his hand back as he covers it up with a laugh, "Now tell me what's wrong. We can't very well find our crystals if we're dealing with conflict, plus you can't focus that well in battle if your mind is elsewhere."

Zidane chuckles, "Who told you that? I hardly believe you came up with that yourself."

Tidus grins and interlaces his hands behind his head languidly, "Rosebud said that too me once. But seriously, what's up? You may feel better if you talk to someone about it."

"Well…" the thief starts, allowing his grin to fade, "it _is_ about the crystals actually. Finding these crystals is much harder than I expected. And sometimes I just feel like I'm falling short." He turns and smiles brokenly at Tidus, "Like I'm not living up to Cosmos' expectations, like I'm letting her down. I only want her approval."

Tidus looses his previous grin altogether, and Zidane can see how his eyes shine with a far away look in them…as if he's seeing himself in those insecure words. Tidus really is the most innocent of them all; besides his father –who's still alive no less- he doesn't have a darkness to haunt him.

"Oh…Zidane, I—" but Zidane smiles and shakes his head.

"Thank you for your concern, I admit it is nice to be able to talk about it with someone. But don't worry about me, I'll be fine." He turns back around, motioning over his shoulder for the suddenly troubled one to follow. He walks on, hyperaware of the heavy steps following him, sounds that can only come from those overly large shoes of Tidus'. He welcomes the hand that is suddenly wrapped around his own, squeezing back in a fabricated sign of thankfulness and weakness.

He hates himself, but can't bring himself to turn the other away, or the impending comfort he will offer. He'd like to say it was a hero's undeniable need to help the troubled and lost; but he honestly can't anymore.

Because he's the most lost.


End file.
